


Origins: Ambulon

by vienn_peridot



Series: Orders Up [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst and Humor, Backstory, Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Gallows Humor, Headcanon, Humor, Major Character Injury, Medical Experimentation, Origin Story, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Puns & Word Play, Referenced Vivisection, Shockwave being Shockwave, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Unethical Experimentation, Unethical Medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9846110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: Everyone comes from somewhere.This is Ambulon's story.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was commissioned by [Skidblast](https://skidblast.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for commissioning me!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Note about the Combicons:**  
>  The Combicons as they appear in this fic are entirely products of my own imagination. When I began work on this in June 2016 all I had to go on were their TFWiki bios containing names, presumptive faction allegiance and (in some cases hypothetical) altmodes.  
> If I have missed something and the Combicons do indeed have canon characterisation somewhere in G1 or the IDW Comics I apologise deeply and beg you to read these Combicons as the silly fan-headcanoning that they are.

At the start, right back at the beginning of his earliest memories there was a sense of reluctance. It was the wrong time. He was being _called_ somewhere or _taken from_ something and it _wasn’t_ the right time.

The feeling still haunted his dreams sometimes.

Then the reluctance separated, became _other_.

If he was being called, then he was needed. So he would go and he would help. He _insisted_.

_Going_.

The others were curious; they would go with him. The reluctant one couldn’t hold them back.

**_Not time._ **

_We go._

A pause then; stasis-held time that could have been seconds or centuries, stretching on into a finite eternity. Then settling, into something that was familiar and not. Contact, and he established linkage and foundation, familiarising himself with his new home.

He felt puzzled; as if something had been skipped, something important left out. The feeling was pushed aside. Everything was in working order. Sound and physical sensation flooded him, a wave that dizzied for a full second before new systems compensated and adjusted to the influx of data. Optics came online next, bringing in light and colour and shapes that woke dormant databanks into life.

He found himself gazing at something his processors struggled to classify.

_Face? Not a face?_

Flat, no defining features for facial recognition systems to record. The yellow thing in the middle was definitely an optic, however. It acted in what he _felt_ should be the right way for an optic.

“Designation?”

“ **Amb** u _l-on_.”

His own voice startled him, pre-installed programming recognising the question and using his own frame to supply an answer without his conscious input. It was no matter; the sound-tone combination he’d voiced felt _right_ somehow, and Ambulon decided that it fitted him and that he liked it.

Something tingly and intangible passed over his frame. Ambulon felt the frame flex, the outer covering reacting to the odd tingle. Information rose unprompted, this frame – _his_ frame- was apparently already equipped with a certain amount of basic knowledge to help him navigate this world.

_That was a_ scan _. That other stuff is_ my armour _. It feels kinda thick. Why do I need so much armour?_

“Initial spark integration complete.” The stranger said again, as if he was talking to himself. “Proceeding with Phase Two.”

New to the world though he was, something about that didn’t sound right to Ambulon.

His attempts to get clarification didn’t work; the right combination of words to use wouldn’t come to him. No matter how he asked or how many _times_ he asked the faceless purple stranger wouldn’t answer him. Instead, he directed Ambulon to move and flex his limbs in certain ways, stand and take a slow walk around the small room. He’d never walked before but it came naturally, his frame supplied with the appropriate motion programming so that he could even _run_ when the purple mech directed. While running was faster than walking, it still felt _slow_ somehow and Ambulon couldn’t help but feel that there was a faster and more efficient method for travelling in a hurry.

_If only I knew what it was._

Then he was ordered to halt before the purple mech and transform.

It took a long moment of searching before Ambulon found the correct command string.

When he did _something_ hummed to life inside him, moving his frame in impossible ways, his mass shifting and reforming smoothly. Ambulon’s body folded and rotated along creases in the very fabric of reality for what felt like eternity before finally slowing, his parts settling into a new arrangement.

One that couldn’t move.

_Can’t move, can’t_ see! _…Something is_ **wrong** _._

Worried, Ambulon fumbled through his first systems diagnostic while his armour tingled again under the purple mech’s scans. Everything came back fine, nothing damaged by his first transformation.

Absolutely nothing about the full spread of green ‘Fully Operational’ reports across his HUD could reassure Ambulon about the situation. Somehow he felt that despite having transformed _he should still be able to move_. His roiling Spark agreed; being left vulnerable and unable to move like this was _wrong_.

Ignoring the purple mech, Ambulon transformed again, crying out with relief as he regained his original shape, with limbs to move and legs to carry him around. He sank to his knees, a strange high-pitched noise coming from his vocaliser as he ran shaking fingers over every piece of his frame that he could reach, trying to reassure himself that he was still in one piece.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong that was_ wrong _._

“Phase Two complete.” The purple mech announced dispassionately. “Proceeding to Phase Three.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Combicons settle in and start to find their feet in the world.  
> Then Ambulon stumbles across the purpose behind their creation.

Phase Three involved four other mechs of similar colouration and origin to Ambulon, mechs he came to know better than he knew himself.

That first night in their shared bunkroom was awkward. After introductions it quickly became clear to everyone that nobody knew exactly why they were there. Two weeks later the best they could figure out about Phase Three was that it was either incredibly complicated or so drawn-out that it was essentially unending.

Or both.

Sometimes Ambulon wasn’t even sure if the purple mech who’d brought him online –a scientist they were to call **S** ho **ck _w_** _av_ **e** \- even knew what the end result of Phase Three was supposed to be.

Then Ambulon would catch Shockwave’s single yellow optic lingering on him or one of the other four ‘Combicons’ in a way that sent chills through his lines. Somehow those calculating stares convinced him that whatever the end goal of Phase Three was supposed to be, it wasn’t going to mean anything good for his ‘test subjects’.

When it came to acquiring information -besides that which Shockwave had brought them online with- they learned slowly. However this was not because of a deficiency in their processors. It was because anything Shockwave hadn’t thought necessary for them to know had to be gathered in stolen snatches or else gleaned through careful observation of other mechs -when they got the chance to meet any.

Abdominus was the primary information-gatherer; the first to discover how to download something to supplement the basic language packs they’d been brought online with. He was also the one to discover that the written forms of their designation-glyphs didn’t match what each of them had first told Shockwave. The sounds were similar, but the ultimate translation was wildly different. When he figured it out and told them Arm-Or had thought the whole thing was hilarious, while Swing spent a few hours punching his berth and swearing with supreme creativity.

_I thought everyone was just mispronouncing it, but it turns out they were saying it right all along…_

One day when all five blue-and-purple mechs were recovering from a gruelling round of tests they agreed to continue using the original versions of their designation amongst themselves.

“That way they won’t be forgotten.” Ambulon said quietly, rolling to his side despite the way his aching struts protested the movement.

Nobody had to ask what he meant. Four pairs of yellow optics looked at him soberly from their bunks around the Combicon sleeping quarters, Abdominus nodding while Kicker whistled something wistful and sad.

They were already so different from those five adventurous Sparks that had followed the untimely call. There was no way to know how much more they would all change before the end of Phase Three but there was one thing they knew for certain: there was no returning to _who_ they’d been before.

Before Shockwave’s tests.

Before their first transformations in these frames.

No going back, not in this lifetime.

It had been the same for all of them; altmodes stubbornly immobile and not what they felt they _should_ have been. Ambulon figured it out the first time they were ordered to transform as a group. Unwilling to take on his suffocatingly immobile altmode he hesitated, watching as the others obeyed Shockwave’s command. First Swing, then Kicker and Arm-Or did as ordered and transformed, Abdominus not far behind.

_An arm, a leg, another arm, a_ something _…_

Ambulon _felt_ Shockwave’s gaze on him. When he looked away from his teammates and it was to see Shockwave staring at him with cold calculation in his lone yellow optic. Before he could get a proper look at what Abdominus became Ambulon reached for the T-Cog code and fell into the shape he detested. His mind raced while Shockwave scanned them, putting altmodes together with their mangled designations ( _Puns_ , Arm-Or had called them) and coming to an unsettling conclusion.

That night he put it to his batch-brothers as they lay sprawled on their berths.

“We’re supposed to make a mech.”

“We’re _what?_ ”

“Ambs, you doofus; even _I_ know you don’t make Cybertronians like that.” Swing’s voice was muffled since he was currently lying face-down on his berth. “Where’s the Spark gonna come from?”

“That’s _not_ what I mean.” Ambulon growled over the snickering and groans that filled the room, wishing he had the energy to throw something at Swing. “I mean _us_ , our _altmodes_. I think we’re supposed to make a mech somehow.”

The revelation made everyone go quiet and listen.

“What makes you think that?” Arm-Or propped himself up on his elbows, giving Ambulon a thoughtful look.

“During testing today I put off transforming until Shockwave gave me The Look. ” Despite his aching frame Ambulon raised am arm and pointed around the room. “Swing and Arm-Or, you looked like giant arms. Kicker was a leg and I’m not sure what you ended up looking like, Abdominus, since that was when I saw Cyclops trying to glare holes in me.” The memory of Shockwave’s cold stare was enough to make Ambulon’s plating clamp down. “Between that and what he changed our designations to I’d bet half of next weeks’ rations that I’m also a leg. Put all of us together we’d be some sort of giant mech-thing.”

Everyone was alert and listening to him now; Kicker had even stopped tapping rhythmically against the edge of his berth so he could give Ambulon his full attention.

“But we don’t join together.” Abdominus was willingly playing Unicrons’ Advocate, testing Ambulon’s hypothesis. “To become a mech we’d need to join together and we _don’t_.”

He… had a point.

“That could be what Phase Three is about, and why it’s taking so long.” Ambulon shrugged, raising his hands in defeat. “I’m not sure though, we’d need to find out more to see if I’m right or just pulling things out of my aft.”

“He _does_ keep giving us those weird instructions,” Arm-Or piped up. “You know the ones, about focusing on each-other while we transform? I thought he was warning us about proximity, or Shockwave trying to be funny somehow.”

The last was added as an afterthought, but everyone was nodding now. Ambulon wanted to facepalm for forgetting about Shockwave’s irritating pre-transformation mantra but he hurt too much to do so.

“It’s a good hypothesis but we need more information.” Abdominus declared, putting an end to the discussion. “Everyone keep your optics and audials open. Do I have a volunteer to try to get a good look at the altmodes of Ambulon and me during testing tomorrow?”

Swing raised a hand from where he still lay face-down on his berth.

“Good mech, Swing.” Somehow Abdominus’ praise did more for them than any of the carefully calculated approval ever shown by Shockwave, their nominal benefactor. “We should get some rest while we can, if we’re going to figure this out.”

Ambulon silently agreed with Abdominus’ assessment; there was no way a mech could function properly if he was exhausted. He let his frame flop back onto his berth and fell into recharge faster than a shot Seeker.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Time and careful investigation proved that Ambulon guess was indeed correct.

They _were_ supposed to form some kind of giant mech, the mysterious process for combining into one somehow supposed to occur when they transformed. At least, that was what they assumed about the process. It was hard to draw any other conclusion from the way Shockwave harped on about focusing on some sort of weird connection they were supposed to have whenever they attempted to transform as a group.

But as time passed all of the Combicons felt their Sparks being pulled _away_ , towards activities and professions decidedly outside Shockwave’s sphere of influence. The ones who came closest to their patron’s obsession with science were Swing with his eternal tinkering and Ambulon with his affinity for medicine.

With skills they gleaned illicitly from other Decepticons (Ambulon volunteering to clean the Medbay in exchange for lessons from Flatline) and Abdominus’ attraction to the Intel and Covert Operations branch of the army they cobbled together a secure communications network for the five of them that Arm-Or dubbed ‘Combi-comms’ in a deliberate play on their official group title. Kicker got some incidental revenge for this nickname when personalising call-tones for each of them.

Their secret comm network took months to put together and by the time it was done Shockwave was obviously frustrated with their inability to combine. The Combicons soon learned that his earlier treatment of them had been relatively gentle as the tests and experiments became absolutely ruthless, involving ever more invasive surgeries coupled with long hours spent in their suffocatingly immobile altmodes.

Then Abdominus picked up rumours referring to their group as experimental, _expendable_ , and the implications of the glyphs chilled them to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~I've used my Cybertronian Name headcanons for this, which is why Shockwave designation (and Ambulon's the first time) are formatted so weirdly ^.^;  
> ~The Combicons do have nicknames for eachother and they show up every now and then.  
> ~I headcanon that these guys were painted identically, with similar builds and slight differences in mass/armour based on which bodypart they become. As they age their faces acquire lines that show a little of their personality and while under Shockwave's 'care' their scars and weld patterns make them more easily distinguishable from eachother.
> 
> NOW YOU HAVE MET MY SHITLORD DECEPTICON CHILDREN. THEY ARE ASSHOLES AND I LOVE THEM.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Decepticon rumour mill is on to something.  
> Slowly the Combicons begin to pursue their extra-curricular interests.

The rumours about them spread and grew.

Somehow word got around that they weren’t able to fulfil Shockwave’s expectations, that they weren’t the weapon he’d promised Megatron.

At least; not yet.

Contempt for Ambulon and his fellow Combicons increased; they became the target of both subtle and not-so-subtle insults and pranks whenever any of them left Shockwave’s domain.

Time dragged on with Phase Three yielding nothing but a growing list of failed attempts, dozens of methods that definitely _would not work_. Whispers about their expendability grew louder and made it more important for the Combicons to prove that they were worth the fuel they received, that they were definitely valuable even if they couldn’t combine.

They were all acutely aware of the fact that if Phase Three failed, Shockwave could very well just sign them over to the main army as cannon fodder and petition for another batch of stored sparks. With what Shockwave had learned from them he’d have no problem correcting the flaws that kept them from combining. Shockwave’s second attempt would be perfect. In the meanwhile the first attempt, all five of them, would be given guns and some training and sent out to die with their useless altmodes as badge of eternal shame, a reminder of their shame for however long they managed to survive.

Not that refraining from transforming would keep their identities secret.

 _We_ are _kinda recognisable._

All five of them followed Shockwave’s signature purple colour scheme, right down to the damning yellow optics where all Decepticon regulars had switched to red in homage to Megatron. The only difference between the Combicons and their creator was the blue accents on their frames like some kind of uniform. This had served as a kind of protection at first, warning their fellow Decepticons not to mess with them or else face Shockwave’s ice-cold wrath.

Now it did the opposite; making them obvious targets.

It also had the effect of making them even closer, forcing the Combicons into a cohesive unit in order to deal with the threats from outside. It was obvious to all of them that with the way things were going; it would only be a matter of time before something more damaging than the sharp side of a glossa was aimed in their direction. They knew without asking that there would be no help coming from Shockwave so they began laying the groundwork for defending themselves with something other than words.

From the very beginning Shockwave hadn’t shown any concern for their mental and emotional wellbeing either inside or outside his domain. Abdominus had heard rumours of torture by the old regime that had damaged him somehow, so their _benefactor_ (for lack of a better tem) didn’t recognise that other mechanisms experienced problems in such areas. Or if he _did_ notice, Shockwave only dealt with the issues when they became a direct hindrance to his plans. None of the Combicons were really sure what was the truth there.

“They turned him into a slagging _monster_.” Swing said one night after a particularly gruelling three-day experiment. “I wish they were still alive so we could have a go at them.”

For this experiment none of them had been allowed to recharge at all, staying locked into their immobile altmodes and covered in wires. Shockwave had continually stimulated their motion circuits, applying more powerful shocks at random in an attempt to trigger successful combination. By the time he released the Combicons to their quarters all five of them _burned_ with the need to move but just as desperately needed rest. Recharge was the only time that self-repair could work on damage that Shockwave hadn’t thought necessary to waste resources on repairing.

But tonight instead of collapsing into recharge on their berths all five of them had piled together on the floor, attempting to help Kicker since he had been the one most badly affected by this torture. His entire frame was jerking at random as stressed nervecircuits glitched and fired off, shaking him awake every few minutes. Even with all four of his teammates holding one of his limbs he still couldn’t get much more than the start of a defrag cycle in before something would misfire and wake him up again.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Abdominus growled in response to Swing’s comment, securing his grip on Kicker with arms that kept twitching without conscious permission. “Probably still a few of them running around. They’ll all have red brands on, for sure.”

Three mechs growled bloodthirsty assent to Abdominus’ plan, Kicker moaning wretchedly as another full-frame spasm forced him awake.

There was a slim chance now that Abdominus would be able to do what he claimed. A few weeks earlier he had entered into a strictly under-the-table apprenticeship with Decepticon Intelligence; trading gossip for tutoring and just enough information to apply the skills he gained.

It wasn’t much so far, but right now they were acutely aware that any and all fragments that came their way were to be grasped at if they were to have a hope of surviving if –or when- Phase Three failed.

“I’m going to talk to the medics, see if anything can be done about these twitches.” Ambulon said as they shifted around, re-settling their grips and tapping simple rhythms on Kicker’s frame to soothe him. “If nothing else I’m going to learn how to do temporary nervecircuit blocks or _something_. Flatline hates cleaning the surgery bay circuit slabs… It should be easy enough.”

There was a quiet murmur of assent before one by one they dropped into recharge and the sounds of exhausted mechanisms sleeping in extremely uncomfortable positions filled the room. All of them would ache far worse than usual in the morning, but uncomfortable recharge was far better than no recharge at all.

Cutting a deal with Flatline was far harder this time around than Ambulon had anticipated. The first few times had been almost _easy_ when compared to this. The ability to temporarily shut down damaged and glitching parts of their frames was absolutely vital and Flatline used Ambulon’s badly-concealed desperation to extort a ridiculous amount of work out of him in exchange for teaching what turned out to be a fairly simple procedure.

Despite the anger of his batch-brothers when they discovered the parameters of the deal, Ambulon felt it was worth it.

### ~V~V~V~

As contempt for their unit continued to escalate, Abdominus and Swing encountered the least difficulty when it came to following the pull of their sparks away from Shockwave’s objectives.

Some of the officers had shown an interest in Abdominus’ progress as an amateur intelligence operative, teaching him how to compensate for frame modifications he simply couldn’t get. The little inventions Swing cobbled together from scrap metal and worn-out parts had bought him passage into the hallowed hallways of Decepticon Research and Development.

Whenever Shockwave’s experiments left them with enough energy to leave their quarters Swing would wander away to vanish behind blast-proof doors for hours on end, coming back brimming with enthusiasm for whatever project he’d been working on and bringing Abdominus fresh gossip to pass on to his own tutors.

Life got harder for Ambulon after the gregarious Arm-Or used his sense of humour to win over some of the ex-gladiators. After all, _he_ was the one who had to repair Arm-Or’s dents and injuries from ‘training bouts’ so they didn’t give Shockwave a reason to ban their extracurricular activities.

The tools Swing made and stole for his medically-oriented brother made things a little easier. Ambulon’s absolute favourite was a micro-welder that slipped onto the back of his hand and curved over his index finger, drawing power from a port in his wrist.

It almost made him feel like a real medic.

Each new tool earned Ambulon a new nickname from Arm-Or, but he was learning how to deal with the jokester’s teasing and how to dish it out in return. However while they teased and argued like any batch-siblings in the privacy their single-room barracks, to a mech the Combicons made absolutely sure to always present a united face in public.

The fact that they could only trust each other was one of the core facts underpinning their existence. Shockwave’s steady indifference to everything except their physical welfare was another. His increasing disregard for their welfare _inside_ the laboratory made it harder to defend themselves outside of it. Arm-Or tried his best to pass on his new fighting skills to the others, but most nights they were just too sore to practice. To a mech they would fall onto their berths, let Ambulon administer motor control blocks as needed and then fall into recharge.

Whenever they had the energy they would spar half-heartedly. Training sessions quickly devolved into gossiping about the soldiers on base and talking about anything and everything to take their minds off the looming failure of Phase Three. While none of them really wanted to think about the difficulties they faced outside Shockwave’s realm, Abdominus forced the topic every other night.

It was a subject they _needed_ to discuss.

None of them could afford to be caught flat-footed if (or when) the metaphorical axe finally fell on Phase Three. Of the five of them it was painfully clear that Kicker and Ambulon were having the most trouble finding a place outside of Shockwave’s laboratory.

By now Flatline was asking so much in return for the pathetic pieces of medical training he was willing to give that Ambulon despaired of ever being able to learn more. The Decepticon medic’s latest demands were so outrageous that Arm-Or would have attempted to rip Flatline’s limbs off if Ambulon hadn’t already disabled his legs for the night. Instead he thrashed his way off the berth and tried to drag himself across the floor with arms that weren’t cooperating.

“You know, I reckon at this rate it would be easier for you to _defect_ and get the Autobots to teach you than it would be to get anything else outta that extortionate scrapheap.” Swing said when Arm-Or had finished raging and he helped Ambulon haul their brother back onto his berth.

“I might as well wish for a flight-capable altmode while I’m at it.” Ambulon grumbled, keeping his optics fixed on the floor. He didn’t want to see his batch-brothers’ faces right now. “It’s about as slagging likely to happen.”

Ambulon crawled onto his berth and lay facing the wall, throwing himself into recharge as soon as he was lying down. As a result he was the only one who missed the speculative look Abdominus aimed in his direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If they could, the Combicons would rip certain medics and mnemosurgeons limb-from-limb but it's not out of any love for Shockwave. It's because the actions of those mechs is the root cause of their abuse.
> 
> We're seeing the more 'human' side of these guys because we're seeing things from their POV. From the outside they're not as nice.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave steps up the brutality.  
> Ambulon develops a disturbing coping method.  
> Abdominus has an idea.

Predictably, the subject of altmodes came up again before the end of the week.

It was unavoidable given the purpose of their existence and the fact that hypothetical altmodes had become one of their favourite subjects to discuss when recovering from surgeries.

This time Ambulon wasn’t able to take part in the discussion. During that day’s experiment he’d started screaming and no matter how hard he tried he _hadn’t been able to stop_. Not even increasingly frantic attempts to self-override the mechanism had been able to mute it. Shockwave hadn’t been able to diagnose the issue while the unit was still in Ambulon’s frame, so he’d simply removed the entire vocaliser for later inspection and proceeded with his plans for the day as if nothing had happened.

Being temporarily (or permanently, Ambulon still didn’t know if Shockwave intended to give his vocaliser back) mute didn’t stop his batch-brothers including Ambulon in the conversation. They continued to address comments to him, bantering easily as they all piled together on his berth, staying in physical contact despite how much they all hurt.

This was one of the few thing they’d found that could pull each other back from the brink when their reality became too much for both spark and processor to handle.

“You should have been a slagging _tank_ , Arm-or.” Kicker said approvingly. “I saw you bust through the restraints once Ambs started shrieking. _Im-press-ive_.” He drew the last word out for emphasis as he tried to find a comfortable position in the limited space available.

“Nah; I can’t hit anything farther away than the end of my arm, you know that.” Arm-Or’s voice carried a definite note of consideration. “Maybe one of those armoured transports, though. That would’ve been _nice_.”

“Oh yeah, I can see you wearing that kibble, alright.” Swing chipped in, examining Arm-Or with a speculative look on his face. “ _Very_ nice”

“Slag off, rev-head.” Arm-Or grumbled, shoving at Swing. “What would _your_ altmode have been? A busted waste drone?”

Having recovered a little from the effects of his breakdown during testing, Ambulon joined the conversation by raising a hand in an affirmative gesture. Agreeing with Arm-Or got him a flurry of insults from Swing and the open relief of everyone in the room.

After that the conversation started to die off, exhaustion slowly claiming the Combicons as one by one they dropped into recharge.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

The removal of Ambulon’s vocaliser heralded the beginning of a hellish new stage of experimentation that nobody had anticipated.

Shockwave began regularly removing their parts, -even vital systems components- in attempts to force them to combine. For a while he seemed convinced that if he _just removed the right pieces_ then their frames would combine automatically in order to make up the lacks in each individual frame.

On top of _that_ cruelty he fiddled with their programming so often that their memory files became massively corrupted. On the worst days their basic functions would run into massive errors that Shockwave fixed only grudgingly –and after it became clear that those errors wouldn’t get him the results he wanted.

These changes to Shockwave’s approach soon made it obvious to the rest of the army that, as they were, the Combicons _weren’t_ the powerful force promised to Megatron. His open contempt gave the rest of the Decepticon army complete freedom to treat the Combicons however they wanted… provided that they weren’t damaged in ways that would interfere with Shockwave’s work. After the first altercation Abdominus ensured that he and his brothers learned _something_ from every encounter, so that next time they wouldn’t go down so easily.

Now more than ever they couldn’t afford to be complacent.

By now the failure of Phase Three was more than just a possibility; it was a stark certainty that loomed over Ambulon and his batch-brothers.

It became absolutely essential for all of them to become valuable (or at least _useful_ ) outside of Shockwave’s Combiner Program. Being thrown onto the battlefield with their useless immobile altmodes, aching frames that were more scar tissue and welds than anything else and being expected to fight alongside mechs who hated them? It would be a death sentence and they knew it.

Methods for acquiring a place outside Shockwave’s realm became a regular topic of conversation, almost overtaking altmodes as the most discussed subject of an evening.

During the day Combi-Comms hummed as they passed tips and bits of information passed between them every waking moment –at least when they were capable of forming coherent thoughts.

Then finally it dawned on them that they really had nothing to lose by incurring the wrath of officers other than Shockwave. On that day the Combicons instituted a policy of dealing with any threat to their group swiftly and with the absolute maximum of prejudice. The other Decepticons soon discovered that the Combicon’s reinforced frames and the high pain tolerance they had developed made them formidable opponents.

Ambulon in particular developed a reputation for hitting where it would hurt the most.   _Especially_ after Abdominus started showing up with medical datapads for him to study when Ambulon had the time and ability to concentrate. In fact, he became so absorbed in the datapads during his rare opportunities to study that it became one of his defining traits; like Swing’s tinkering, Arm-Or’s terrible jokes or Kicker’s obsession with music.

The illicit medical datapads were the best thing to enter Ambulon’s life besides his brothers. Flatline’s willingness to exploit him in exchange for training had dried up the instant Shockwave’s disenchantment with the Combicons had become common knowledge. This had frustrated Ambulon to no end, and no amount of bargaining (or threats) had gotten the medic to budge. With Ambulon’s thirst for knowledge temporarily sated the other Combicons breathed a collected sigh of relief.

Then Ambulon developed an unexpected and rather macabre coping method.

::Ambs, you know we love you but would you just _shut up?_ ::

::Yeah, we don’t need your running commentary _on your own slagging vivisection!_ ::

::Morbid slagger.::

::But this is really interesting, guys! He’s taking the-::

**::SHUT. UP.::**

As their situation worsened a crazy, impossible idea started chewing on Abdominus, an idea that sank hooks into him no matter how hard he tried to shake it from his mind. Naturally, the apprentice spy had information he hadn’t shared with his brothers; this was a normal part of training for covert operations.

So when he added Ambulon’s borderline obsessive interest in medicine to that secret knowledge, Abdominus couldn’t help wondering if maybe, just _maybe_ his crazy little idea wasn’t quite so crazy after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambulon PLEASE be shoosh TuT


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gossip mill brings bad news for the Combicons.  
> It is time for Abdominus to act.

Life for the Combicons continued in a series of ever more brutal experiments.

It was their normal; they knew no other way of living.

To a mech they actively tried not to think about the fact that their lives _could_ be different; in order to survive they simply accepted their currently reality for what it was. It was how they coped. Thinking about certain things too much was to court madness. Somewhere in the backs of their minds they all knew that if one of them succumbed then the rest would soon follow.

Of all the Combicons, only Abdominus truly appreciated just how much this comfortable bubble of denial protected their collective sanity. It may not have been the healthiest thing in the long run, but for now it insulated them, kept them from consciously acknowledging the reality of their situation and embracing the spectre of insanity that always lurked behind the flash and glare of Shockwave’s scalpels and acetylene torch.

Out of his batch-brothers he _knew_ that Swing and Arm-Or had to consciously understand this as well, although they’d never said anything to him about it. With their friends amongst the engineers and ex-gladiators it was impossible for them not to. All five of them knew that Ambulon and Kicker were the most isolated in general, since they had no consistently agreeable contact with mechs outside their group.

_If we get dropped I’m not sure they’re gonna make it for too long._

Sometimes Abdominus would stay awake and watch his brothers as they recharged, trying to figure out a way to keep them alive and relatively sane through the grinding torture of Phase Three.

After an exhaustively thorough round of vivisections during which he systematically investigated every possible set of systems Shockwave had finally focused his efforts on their Sparks, T-Cogs and brain modules.

From the way Shockwave’s fascination with their Sparks seemed to increase as time went on Abdominus became convinced that their creator was approaching some sort of breakthrough. The exact nature of this breakthrough was up for debate, but Abdominus was absolutely certain that it would either mean their disposal or the mysterious combination of frames Shockwave had been trying to force them into since their first day online.

_Succeed or fail, I don’t think we’ll be the same afterwards…_

Throughout all of this the Combicons tried their best to maintain _some_ sort of respect within the Decepticon forces, using the power of their fists and ability to respond to threats as a group to their advantage.

No matter where they went or who threatened them, they knew they could count on each other. That kind of confidence and absolute trust in at least a few of their fellow Decepticons wasn’t found anywhere else except in the Seeker Trines.

Being able to call for backup immediately and have it arrive within minutes was a powerful thing. Especially since so far nobody outside of their insular little group even suspected the existence of Combi-Comms. It helped that they hadn’t learned the social behaviours associated with commlink usage until well after establishing their own little network. For them, comming each other was as normal and natural as venting or fuelling and they treated it as such. So it didn’t take long for rumours began to spread though the Decepticon forces that they did indeed have some sort of supernatural bond, one that allowed them to communicate no matter how far apart they were.

When Abdominus heard the first of those rumours he put his propaganda and misinformation lessons to good use by making sure they spread. Any advantage was to be sought after and hoarded, even one as small as a rumour.

It was that focus on rumours that eventually saved them.

Because to Shockwave they were only test subjects –and flawed ones, at that- he’d never thought it necessary to actually _tell_ the Combicons about any of his plans. He had simply carried them out without informing or asking consent. So it was though the gossip mill that Abdominus found out about Shockwave’s progress and exactly how close he and his batch-brothers were to having a true Gestalt Bond forced upon them.

Pure chance put the apprentice spy in the right place at the right time to overhear some of the science division sniping about Shockwave’s latest reports to Megatron. While they openly mocked his claims of a breakthrough in externally-imposed spark connections Abdominus felt his entire frame go cold. With an imposed Bond and a few extra modifications to code lines that were already in place Shockwave would be able to trigger the combination process -whether his test subjects liked it or not.

As the scientists moved off, dismay receded to be replaced by icy determination.

Abdominus made his decision.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

That night Abdominus distracted Ambulon with a new medical datapad and pulled the other three into a conversation over comms, covering it with continuing their usual complaints and bickering aloud.

::Hey guys, what would you think about sneaking Ambs away from here to get proper training?::

::What, like for real?::

::No idea. It’s one of those training exercise things I’ve been assigned:: Abdominus lied smoothly. ::How I would stall the Cycloptic Slasher’s project without actually jeopardising any of the components.::

::Wow, cold wording bro.::

::Frag yeah. You sure you got a spark left in there, ‘Mus? Shockers didn’t replace it with methane ice, did he?::

::It’s _their_ wording, I’m just passing it on.::

None of them really believed him; Abdominus could see it in the disturbed glances that flicked between his brothers. Swing was the first to give Ambulon a thoughtful look, staring so long that he actually pulled his attention away from the datapad.

“The frag are _you_ staring at?” Ambulon grumbled, glaring almost resentfully at his batch-brother.

“I dunno; but whatever it is, it’s fragging _ugly_.” Swing shot back while the other three snickered.

Ambulon made a rude gesture at Swing with both hands before diving back into his datapad, muttering loudly about useless glitches.

::What good would sending one of us away do?:: Arm-Or asked, unusually serious.

::And why would you pick Ambs?:: Kicker added.

::If there’s just one of us missing he can’t easily justify scrapping all the rest and starting over. He’s _gotta_ keep the rest alive and try to find the rogue.:: Abdominus tried to explain his reasoning. ::Otherwise it’s a waste of resources and all that scrap.::

The got him a chorus of mocking snorts completely out of place within their current verbal sparring match, but Ambulon didn’t appear to notice.

::That makes sense.:: Swing’s comm-voice was dryly cynical. ::I’m pretty sure the Slagmaker won’t just hand over the Sparks and resources to make five _more_ mechs if he still has most of the original five. Supplies are gettin’ real tight.::

Kicker tapped out an odd little rhythm on the wall beside his berth. The unpredictably asynchronous beat sent a prickly sensation down Abdominus’ backstruts. Humming a melody line that matched the tone of their conversation unexpectedly well, Kicker studied their medically-inclined brother where he sprawled against the opposite wall of their quarters.

::He’d be the most useful of us out there, and the _least_ useful in here if the program stopped for however long:: He flashed a grin at Abdominus, yellow optics bright. ::I think you’re gonna ace this one, bro.::

Arm-or and Swing nodded, looking soberly at their unofficial leader while Ambulon read on, oblivious.

With an uncomfortable sinking feeling in his spark Abdominus realised his lie about an assignment hadn’t fooled his batch-brothers at all.

::Um, thanks.::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Combicons all have nicknames for each-other, derived from the original designation-variants they reported to Shockwave. I based their nicknames on grammatical rules from a couple of sub-dialects of Kiwi English.  
> So we have:  
> Abdominus -> 'Minus -> 'Mus  
> Ambulon -> Ambs.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abdominus puts his plan into action.  
> Ambulon finds himself on the receiving end of the legendary Combicon Teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late because I have a guest from overseas ^.^;

A little over three weeks later Abdominus was nearly late for their morning torture session, slipping into the lab scant seconds before the eternally punctual Shockwave was due to arrive. Four sets of familiar yellow optics flickered in his direction, his brothers’ faces showing almost identical relieved expressions.

“About bloody time.” Kicker asked aloud, adding a quick ::Is it sorted?:: over their private comms.

“Love you too, slagface.” Abdominus shot back. “I ran into Motormouth from the armoury. Didn’t see you coming to bail me out in a hurry.”

::Everything’s been arranged. Now we just have to talk him into it.::

“The day you can’t handle _that_ aft by yourself is the day we shovel your rusted corpse into the smelter.” Kicker shot back with little actual venom.

::Well, we’re fragged then.:: Arm-or said cheerfully. ::Only thing he’s more obsessed with than medic stuff is our fragged-up little ‘family’.::

“I’ll remember that next time Vortex starts ‘hitting’ on you.” Abdominus snapped, ruffling his weld-seamed armour angrily.

::I know. Which is why I think we can do it.::

At that moment Shockwave entered, effectively putting a halt to the conversation.  But a quick glance at his batch-brothers told Abdominus that it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Ambulon stared at his brothers as the familiar effects of shock crept through his frame, claiming systems one by one.

“You want me to _what?!_ ”

He couldn’t believe his audials as the four nearly identical mechs he’d known every day of his life repeated their impossible request.

 _They want me to_ leave _them here. But **we’ve** _ always _had **our** backs!_

The plan made a sickening kind of sense, in a cold, calculated way that rivalled anything Shockwave had ever done. His mind raced, used to compensating for the pain and error messages bogging his processors down and working overtime on the problems facing them.

“But, those datapads you’ve been getting for me.” Ambulon’s mind was in turmoil, his spark screaming in protest. “What he’s planning, it’s never going to work. Not unless he finds a way to forge a permanent quantum link between our processors, combined with an artificial and _stable_ spark contamination on the level of an intentional multi-participant Bonding. And even then...”

Four identical stares of horrified disbelief stopped him before he could say anything more.

“What?” He demanded, crossing his arms defensively over weld-seamed chestplates. None of them had been repainted since the last round of surgeries; the scar tissue around their welds was still too prone to destabilisation and infection. “Between what he’s been doing to us lately and the ‘pads I’ve been reading it’s pretty slagging _obvious_.”

There was no questioning of his loyalties, no demands to know whether or not he’d been working with Shockwave behind their backs. So far as their erstwhile creator was concerned they were somewhat lower than lab animals and only slightly more useful than drones because of what they might become. They all knew it; it was one of the core truths their existence and was superseded only by the knowledge that they were all there for each other. That _no matter what happened_ they were a team and always would be.

_And now they want me to leave…_

If Shockwave was on to something with forcing the kinds of connections required for a stable combination then it was only a matter of time before they would be lying open on circuit slabs while he carried out the required surgeries. They all knew by now that it wouldn’t even matter if the results _weren’t_ stable.

Shockwave didn’t need them sane, and if the worst happened he could always try again. The survival of Ambulon and his brothers, -their memories and personalities, the mechs they were _now_ \- it didn’t matter to Shockwave or anyone else so long as Megatron got the results promised.

_Nobody would care, except us. And we might not be ‘us’ to care anymore…_

When faced with that, with the sure knowledge that his brothers’ fate relied on his decision, there was only one answer Ambulon could give.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

A cacophony of low voices greeted Abdominus as he crawled slowly and painfully out of a floor-level vent collapsed face-down on the floor of their quarters.

“Is it done?” “Is he gone?” “Did you do it?”

The amateur spy wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make it back from the shuttlebay. The dull pain from half-healed surgical incisions had been joined by general aches from crawling about halfway back. When Ambulon didn’t appear behind him it was Arm-Or who finally broke the silence.

“Holy slag, _you actually did it_.”

His voice was full of something like awe. Abdominus wouldn’t go so far as to call it respect, because that was an emotion Arm-Or just didn’t do. But it was close enough.

“Yeah.” Abdominus’ voice crackled with exhaustion but he didn’t care. “He said to tell you guys not to expect any postcards. And that he’s gonna miss us.”

Swing snorted though his vents, helping Kicker pick Abdominus up and hauling him to his berth by main force.

“You sure that’s Ambulon you’re talking about and not some other leg?” Kicker asked sceptically. “’Cause that doesn’t sound like him.”

Doing his best to become one with the slightly improved padding of his berth, Abdominus found the energy to nod. “You know Ambs. Words were different but the meaning was the same.”

“I bet.” Arm-Or chuckled briefly, then stopped and looked around. “Wow, he’s really _gone_.”

It was slowly starting to sink in for Abdominus too, despite having actually been there to watch his brother walk slowly and steadily onto that shuttle, familiar blue-and-purple backstruts ramrod straight despite the way Shockwave had been cutting into them and rearranging their internals only two days earlier.

They’d never been apart before. None of them. They’d always had backup, always had eachother. Abdominus had done his best to look out for all of them and now Ambulon was gone millions of lightyears away, alone with only had the word of mechs nobody trusted to say that he would be safe.

_I hope that Tarn really is as predictable in his addiction as they say…_

“So now all we have to do is wait and see what Mad Monoclops is gonna do when he finds out his pet project doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” Arm-Or said abruptly.

Leaving Swing and Kicker to wreck vengeance for the joke, Abdominus fell into recharge with the memory-image of Ambulon’s stoic expression floating before his closed optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go!


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We end at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to miss Ambs and the Combicons so much TuT

Ambulon was giving his hands a final rinse at the sink.

He flexed his fingers slowly to allow water through the gaps in his armour and carry away the last foaming traces of disinfectant solution. As he did so more tiny flecks of red and white paint lifted away, swirling down the drain. Sighing, he shut the water off with an elbow and examined the damage with a critical optic.

 _Gonna have to touch these up_ again _._

During the trip to Delphi he’d been repainted by one of Abdominus’ tutors in the traditional Autobot Medic colours of red and white. They’d run out before reaching his helm, so Ambulon had looked at the remaining stock and chosen yellow and black; a colour combination that had always appealed to him. Having to touch up the new colours so often was mildly annoying, but _much_ better than having to slather enamel analogue on over thick weld-scars every week.

Even after years on Delphi he _still_ wasn’t used to his new appearance, wondering who the new mech was whenever he saw his own reflection out of the corner of his eye.

While the repaint hadn’t made Pharma any more positively disposed to him than he would have been to any watchers the Deceptions placed at Delphi, it had made it easier to deal with First Aid.

A few subtle questions proved that the little Autobot nurse was totally clueless about Pharma’s Faustian contract with Tarn and had therefore taken Ambulon’s cover story at face value.

So there was no way Ambulon could tell First Aid about his brothers; and even if he was able to, he didn’t have the words to properly articulate his thoughts. So _of course_ the Autobot didn’t understand why Ambulon refused to get a proper, permanent repaint and continued to retouch or strip and redo the Autobot colours whenever he became too shabby-looking.

Every time Ambulon seriously considered First Aid’s advice it felt like some kind of betrayal of the mechs he’d left behind, so he kept the blue-and-purple all five Combicons had been created with.

_I wonder how those glitches are getting on…_

There had been no news, but that was what he’d expected.                      

Abdominus had said it would be a year _at least_ before he’d be able to smuggle a message to Delphi, and even then there was no guarantee of anyone actually passing it on to Ambulon. All he really knew for certain was that if anything _did_ happen to his batch-brothers then Tarn would hunt him down to gloat. Until that happened, the sadist would ensure his T-Cog supply by keeping Ambulon hidden from Shockwave.

Cold air from an external door opening somewhere swirled through the Delphi complex, carrying with it the scent of snow. Suppressing a shiver, Ambulon shut the lights off and left the washracks. The cold made his many scars ache but the sheer novelty of being on a planet with _weather_ was still enough to make up for it. He could –and did- stand at the windows and watch it for _hours_ , until First Aid saw and teased him for it or Pharma came along and reminded him that he had work or study that needed to be done.

Because Ambulon was _learning_.

Actual lessons and lectures with assignments and tests to be graded. Because despite resenting Ambulon’s presence, Pharma took his part of the bargain with Decepticon Ops seriously. After giving Ambulon a week to get adjusted he’d called the newcomer to his office and given him a datapad full of questions to answer.

Well, for Ambulon to _try_ to answer.

Pharma had taken one look at Ambulon’s test results and launched into a diatribe about shoddy half-bit wannabe instructors that Ambulon had recorded just in case he ever got the chance to share it with his brothers. Now he had a lesson plan, access to what survived of the Deltaran Medical Library and practical assignments to carry out under the alien blue optics of First Aid or Pharma.

For the first time in his life Ambulon wasn’t being experimented on or forced into his suffocatingly immobile altmode for hours or days at a time. Two years on and some of the scar tissue was beginning to reintegrate properly with his frame.

It was the closest thing Ambulon could think of to paradise, except for one thing.

His brothers weren’t there.

 _This is the_ only _way to keep us alive and whole-sparked_.

Ambulon’s quarters on Delphi were small compared to the large open bunk room he’d shared with his brothers, but that made it easier to keep the place at a Cybertron-normal temperature when the winds outside screamed and seemed to suck the heat right out of his frame. What bothered him was the quiet, until First Aid had found out and given him a weird look before teaching him what the little control panel beside the door did.

Using that little control panel, Ambulon called up a playlist of percussion-heavy songs to play in the background and picked up the datapad of anatomy texts he was supposed to be studying. He read until the pull of recharge became too strong to resist, the quiet sound of drums lulling Ambulon into dreams of familiar faces that he was determined to see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here our tale draws to a close with Ambulon on Delphi, where we first see him in MTMTE.  
> That ending line... I had to. I couldn't resist. (I'm on the express train to hell.)


End file.
